Obscurities
by xXMcIntyreXx
Summary: Bruce had nearly died, the Joker had escaped from Arkham. A traumatized young girl shows up at Mister Wayne's doorstep with no recollection of who she is, and suddenly falls into the grasp of the psycho clown. Rated M for later chapters.


**(A/N: This is my first story (That I've posted on this website anyways I have millions) and I really love Batman. This is set after The Dark Knight which you will come to realize later on. Uhhh o.O Odd chapters reflect on Bruce Wayne/Batman and evens are about The Joker. So yeah, I hope you enjoy it :) reviews would be absolutely lovely!)**

**~BrUcE wAyNe~**

Bruce Wayne had never so much as batted an eye about the circumstances of his death. It was ridiculous subject to dwell on in his opinion.

Being an outlaw- an illegal vigilante if you will- certainly would turn the gears in your mind... being such a dangerous profession.

It was, however, something that had been racking his brain the past few seemingly endless nights. It was nerve defying.

He performed the unusual task of lying in his expensive five thousand dollar custom produced bed, until daybreak.

The absence of light was beginning to become his enemy- more so than the Joker of Gotham City himself. It frightened him.

A habit of insomnia had formed, molding itself into his very person. Others around him would avoid him, noticing his newly profound irritable attitude.

They had detached themselves from associating with the man. Not that he had many acquaintances to begin with.

They would all whisper in corners and closed doors about him, and act as if nothing was occurring. As if he wasn't aware.

As superhuman as his body had grown, he was not invincible. He felt the exact opposite. Completely vulnerable.

That would be the reason for his nightmares if he even dared close one eyelid for the proximity of half of a second.

The moments where he would be unconscience would be very brief, never lasting for more than a mere ten minutes.

There were dark purple bags morphing underneath his cloudy exhausted chocolaty brown eyes. He had even discovered a single grey hair.

Alfred found his worries and concerns rather amusing in a very ironic way. As faithful and loyal as the butler had been, he had no clue.

The ancient employee had normally been keen on receiving off vibes from Mister Wayne, being fully knowledgeable when it would come to his boss's danger.

Yet he had pretended as if it were indifferent. Almost as if Bruce hadn't nearly been killed only days ago.

It was incompetent and obscure to imagine outliving the young tycoon. He had been around for nearly a century.

Even with a deteriorating mind Alfred was no dummy. He was, and always has been since day one, Batman's right hand man.

He was a nemesis to the villains in Gotham as much as the superhero. Mister Lucius Fox had agreed to tend himself in such a predicament as well.

It had been far too late for either of them to renounce or revoke their titles. They would work for Wayne industries until the day of their last breaths.

Bruce knew of this advantage, which was a slight load off of the stress that had been gradually building up over his heart.

It was a burden to contemplate, and a nuisance to deal with. He wished it to be over and done with. But he knew as much as every other human being...

That wishing was a waste of time. It drove the best folks crazy... pushed them into madness. It could darken the lightest people.

Turn the innocent into evil, and the most hysterical of them all: suggest the norms to kill themselves. That was right. Suicide.

Bruce shook his head, regaining sight of the reality that had bestowed itself onto the lit up television screen.

The psychotic clown had struck again near Cicero. Murdered another phony Batman imposter in cold crimson blood.

Bruce began to rub the bridge of his nose in agony. He had let Harvey Dent take his own roll, standing with consequences of actions that didn't even belong to him.

It was a treacherous thing to agree too... well he hadn't actually spoken with the attorney about it. He had initially planned to turn himself in to the authorities.

Harvey was faster and more agile than that. He felt it was his civic duty to protect Gotham in their time of need.

Yet Joker had taken their white knight and turned him into the exact level of criminal that was considered a danger to society.

It was the circus freak's way and manor to prove to the provoked citizens just how low a human could actually reach. How fast they would smash into rock bottom.

Bruce suspected nothing less. His foe had aimlessly, easily, and quickly broken out of Arkham Asylum as fast as he had been thrown in.

No white, padded, six by six cell could possibly be enough to contain the killer. No straight jacket tight or secured enough.

Bruce had suddenly wondered to himself what was keeping the judges from penalizing the maniac to the death sentence.

The Joker had eluded his final day many times. This being... the fourth time to make the national news headline.

As large as the United States was, and how much barren land that had been vacant within it, the mass murderer elected to stay within the city limits of Gotham.

Ever since his previous capture after ending the life of Rachel and pushing Harvey into oblivion, he had laid low.

It could have been hours until the realization that he had escaped from the mental facility. The guards wouldn't have known for weeks if it weren't for his medication dosages each evening.

It had phased Bruce why they couldn't keep their own security officers controlled enough to be watching him through the one way window at all hours of the day.

Then he had come to the short conclusion that they were all cowards. They knew, as much as he, how much of a mind bender the Joker had been.

You could mutter one random word... such as the word 'hat' for example... and he would twist it into bits and pieces of a mental game.

For his own entertainment. The exact moment their minds were dazed and confused was his opportune moment to leave.

He obviously has thought of some clever scheme to free himself from the tight bonds of the straight jacket.

Nobody Bruce knew had that special ability. It would have been a wonderful skill to write on an application.

_Special Abilities: _**Escaping From A Straight Jacket**

That would sit very nice with an employer. They were always searching in high hopes for murderous men to pay.

Bruce didn't trust a great deal of people. His faith had been hidden within the bodies of only three individuals... that number was reduced to only a pair within the last month.

Alfred and Lucius were the proud and lucky holders of his 'trust card' something that had been planted assuringly into the soul of Rachel.

Oh how he had loved her, how his heart raced for the woman, and how he would turn into a fool for her. He laughed at the idea.

Bruce had absent mindedly clicked the off switch to his large flat screen. He had seen enough... more than he could handle.

It was quite frankly disturbing to say the least. There was a variety of various words he could have pulled out of his ranging vocabulary.

But as flustered as his mind had become, that particular one had been the first and only one he could muster.

He mentally began to wonder into a world he wasn't so sure was deemed reality. It couldn't have been true. It was too happy a place.

He had begun to wonder if happiness existed physically in this day and age... or at least in Gotham on any road.

No... It was more complicated than that. With the traumatic events in this place, being joyful or happy would cause you to unblock further psychiatric issues.

Ones most weren't willing to venture deep into their minds to discover. Nearly every being around him possessed those same conflictions.

Pennyworth had taken the entire day off, by force of Bruce himself, which made the loud ring of the front door Mister Wayne's responsibility.

Wayne Manor had been thoroughly rebuilt, and was now standing proudly with not even a flaw in the detailed architecture.

The dreadful moment in which the Riddler had a-bombed his entire cave had been the reason for his purchasing of the penthouse.

He pressurized his middle fingers on his temples as he hopped down the multicolored marble stairs of the main entry way.

A pain lying just behind his right eye was beginning to emerge, signaling the start of what would become a migraine.

He listened to the impatient un-rhythmic beating of his ten foot tall wooden front entrance. This had only worsened the ache.

He had pondered to himself whether or not he should answer to this unknown person that stood on the other side.

Perhaps he should ignore them out of pure diligence for their rude behavior. He wasn't like that. He would have to open it no matter what.

And as quickly as he spotted the woman on his concrete porch, he had immediately regretted even considering leaving and pretending to be absent from his own home.

A girl, much younger than himself he had picked up on reluctantly, was immobile on her knees in front of him.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around her stomach, looking up at me with pleading green eyes. Her breaths were short and raspy and her hair a knotted mess.

What was most likely once a field of beautiful luscious golden curls, was now a tangled field of yellow mixed with brown mud an dirt.

Crispy dead leaves clung to her half torn blouse, and blood stained her daisy duke denim shorts on the side hip.

She had been carelessly wounded from what Bruce had come to believe was a very dull object. That was the worst kind of injury.

The alternative to a sharp knife that could sever like butter, was the excruciating pain of an item not meant to cut being dug into your body.

It would take countless amounts of efforts and a significant amount of strength to penetrate the body with say... a butter knife as apposed to a steak cleaver.

Her body was shaking and struggling to maintain a minimum body temperature. She opened her mouth as it to speak, and yet Bruce had heard nothing come out.

Soiled tears fell shamelessly down her face, racing to reach the pavement, making two small darkened droplets on the white substance.

From the few moments observing her current state, it was already clear after a full recovery in which places would be scarred.

Just above her left eye a small dash would be present. Almost halfway down the side of her right thigh would be a white gash healing.

Finally her stomach would have a full fitting band running smoothly across, which a future lover (if she chose to have one) would eventually find out.

He felt for this unfortunate beautiful young lady, hoping to high heavens she would one day forget the tragic incident she had found herself in.

"Who are you?" he then questioned, picking her small light fragile body up off of the ground and into his home, carrying her to the bat lair.

She glanced up at him with innocent eyes, curling her fingers around the collar of his button up shirt as he carried her in his strong arms.

"I... I don't know."


End file.
